


Big Nothing

by Cacoethic



Category: Naruto
Genre: AU, Angst, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Rehabilitation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-09-25 09:48:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9813938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cacoethic/pseuds/Cacoethic
Summary: Of course they’d given me mandatory rehab. At least I got to pick which one, because the “heavily regimented” clinic sounded a lot less fun than the one with animal-assisted therapy. // Westernized AU taking place post-HS





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Heya! This is a multi-chapter fic featuring a heroin-addicted Ino and a toned-down, more mature Kiba (both characters are ~19). I'm planning for this to be the prologue + 3 chapters maybe? The POV will change from Ino to Kiba in alternating chapters. Anyway, feel free to give me feedback. I did research for this fic but am not infallible. This is, as you may have gathered, in part inspired by "The Ballad of Big Nothing" by Elliott Smith. I also recommend Julien Baker's cover of it. Thanks! Hope you enjoy!

Ino

My dad’s a cop. I knew I’d gotten off easy. But he also couldn’t look at me anymore, so I’d rather have been sitting in jail for a week or whatever. It was my first offense (or rather, the first time I’d been caught) so I was hoping I’d get off scot free and maybe no one would ever know. But of course they’d given me mandatory rehab. At least I got to pick which one, because the “heavily regimented” clinic sounded a lot less fun than the one with “animal-assisted therapy”. I’d never been allowed to have a pet before, as my mother claimed to hate the smell. I grew up thinking all animals had some terrible odour, a belief that was shattered when Sakura got a tiny pug that always smelled like shampoo.

Sakura hadn’t known about my habit. In fact, no one aside from my dealer and the other shitheads I partied with had any sort of clue. None of my highschool friends seemed to notice me pulling back, aside from Sakura who was practically powerless against me. When I was so in over my head I started stealing money from mom’s purse I told myself I would stop. I couldn’t be a 19-year-old junkie working at her parent’s flower shop _and_ stealing from them. But I didn’t stop. And my mom never even noticed.

It took a lot for me to get caught. I got lazy. I stopped carefully measuring everything, stopped making sure I had a safe place to crash once the drugs got into my system. If things had gone on any longer I honestly might’ve started reusing needles. My appearance, all I’d had going for me previously, had gone to shit. I wasn’t beautiful anymore- more like a husk of a human. Lifeless eyes, shrinking wrists, skin that had all but completely lost its colouring. People must’ve noticed. No one said anything. Until I almost died.

I fucked up big time. Mom wouldn’t shut the fuck up about how shameful it was that I, the daughter of a cop and a fucking florist, had been passed out in an alleyway half-dead. She went on and on in the hospital room about how I could have died and never been found, which is absurd considering I was in the middle of the city. In the middle of a semi-abandoned alleyway, but a city nonetheless. There was always someone there. Over and over mom kept repeating that each time I did heroin I’d been risking my life, and it had almost caught up to me. In the coming days as the withdrawal grew and consumed me, I began to wish that it had.

I spent days in the hospital throwing up and physically restrained to prevent me from lashing out at nurses and family members approaching the room. Sakura tried to visit, but I informed the nurses less-than-politely that I didn’t want any visitors. I didn’t want anyone to see me that way, and the thought of looking into Sakura’s eyes after all the shit I put her through was more nauseating than the withdrawals. I treated Sakura like shit ever since I got hooked, probably even before it. I was never a good friend, and seeing her face would do nothing but remind me of that. If I could block my parents from coming in I would’ve – well, my mom. Dad never came, despite my mother’s constant reassurances that he was worried and wanted to come but couldn’t find the time.

About a week in I was considerably calmer in mind and body: my heart rate was lower, I wasn’t vomiting constantly, and the restraints had been removed for good behaviour. I still had a nasty mouth, but at least I wasn’t throwing punches from the hospital bed anymore. Once I was feeling up to it, they gave me the choice between different rehab centers. There was no outpatient option, something I would’ve fought had I not felt so used up. Spent. Once the detox was over, there was nothing left of the drugs or myself. I entered rehab feeling more like a shell than I ever had on heroin.

It was difficult for someone devoid of emotions to make friends in an unfamiliar environment. I had a roommate, Ayaka, who had actually chosen to enter rehab of her own volition. She was trying desperately to shake her addiction, setting an amazing example for me. But we didn’t mesh. She moved in and out of the room to socialize whenever possible, while I tried my hardest to spend any free time holed up in our room. We rarely had unstructured time, the days passing from one structured activity to the next, but I took advantage of it to just be _alone_. There were other girls too, some new like me and others on their third or fourth time through rehab. Rich kids with no direction in life. I guess I couldn’t really claim to be above them.

Everyone smoked cigarettes, despite it being against the rules, and I only really made contact with people when we found a new spot to break those rules. I’d smoked on occasion before, filling the gap between my next fix. It was uncommon here since the orderlies had eyes like hawks, but I still indulged on occasion. The nicotine reminded me of myself before, when I felt alive. The various therapists tried to hammer into me that I was never closer to death than I was prior to entering rehab, but it was difficult to believe when I recalled the rush of filling my veins.

At least there were dogs. I wasn’t allowed to see them for the first days until they determined I was like, not dangerous I guess, but it became very apparent to everyone I met that I didn’t even have the capacity to feel anger anymore. Despite _not_ being the rehab center that boasted their strict schedule, the place was still fairly uptight. In highschool I’d always wake up early and spend an hour or more on my hair and makeup, but things changed after graduation. Like, a lot of things. So getting up at 8 AM to eat and do a group therapy session was hellish. It was real hard sleeping without the comfortable numbness eating at my brain, even after withdrawal aches had subsided. I felt myself losing track of days as each carefully planned activity blended with the next and my sleep schedule failed to normalize.

It was still the first week, I was fairly certain, when I got to meet the dogs. The facility had more than one therapy dog (a rarity, especially considering ‘addictions’ weren’t a popular category for animal assisted therapy) and patients who signed up were allotted an hour twice a week with a dog. I left group therapy (having said nothing, as per usual) and was escorted to a room with three dogs and their handlers. It was overwhelming, being around so many dogs. There weren’t any small dogs like Sakura’s pug – remembering this, I felt a twinge of sadness – but I wasn’t afraid. Mostly just confused. It didn’t smell like dogs in the room or anything unpleasant at all: was mom delusional or had I just been lucky thus far?

“Ino,” one of the handlers said my name and I snapped my head up to meet his gaze rather than continue to stare at the dog he was next to. He’d said _my_ name, I noted dully before recognition set in. Oh _fuck_. It was Kiba.


	2. Chapter 2

Kiba

Ino had been fucking hot in high school. Like, you know those movies where the evil hot popular girl is gonna be crowned prom queen but the nice geeky girl somehow manages to pull it off instead? Ino was the evil hot one. Except she actually did get prom queen, but refused to accept when Naruto of all people got prom king. She was kind of a bitch.

In front of me then, however, she looked meek as hell. When I saw her enter the room literally escorted by another person I couldn’t believe my eyes. Ino Yamanaka, the cool beauty from my teenage wet dreams, was now an absolute wreck. It’d been less than a year since graduation and she’d somehow turned into a gaunt ghost of herself. I’d seen the name Ino on the sheet for that day’s visitations: we’re supposed to familiarize ourselves with their first names so they feel more comfortable around us. I’d imagine having a total stranger know your name before you’ve said a word to eachother would be unsettling, but I follow protocol. I convinced myself Ino was a common name and ignored that she’d dropped off the face of the earth after high school. Even staring straight at her, I was almost positive I had the wrong person. She seemed washed out, colourless, and her hair was brittle as it hung down her back loosely. Certainly this was more than a case of the power of makeup – something about her entire _composition_ had changed in the months since we’d all thrown our caps up in the air to celebrate entering the next stage of life.

“Ino,” I spoke tentatively, forgetting myself in the room with my fellow dog handlers as well as a few rehab staff. She’d been staring at the dogs with apprehension but looked up quickly when I said her name. Her eyes were such a pale blue they were almost transparent. It was her. I saw the recognition dawn on her face but she said nothing in response. As if I planned it this way, I gestured her my way and waited for her to follow me before heading out another door to the large (fenced in) backyard area. It was more like a small park and judging from the look of wonder on Ino’s face, she’d never been out there before. We walked over to a bench situated under a tree, neither of us saying anything. Soon the other dogs and people would be heading outside behind us, and I felt compelled to speak before they did so.

“It’s… good to see you?” it _was_ a question, but I hadn’t meant to make it actually _sound_ like one.

“No shit it’s not good to see you,” she scoffed. “I’d probably rather be literally anywhere else but here,” for a few moments the cool beauty returned to the attitude I knew so well, but she wilted soon after. “Well, I guess I do want to see the dogs,” she conceded quietly while eyeing the dog next to her somewhat warily. I couldn’t help but smirk. I had Taro with me that day, a big mutt that some patients found intimidating. But he was a sweetheart, and if anyone could melt Ino’s ice-cold heart it was much more likely to be him than me.

“This is Taro,” I explained while giving him a pat on the head. He looked up at me affectionately before scooting closer to Ino, who in turn scooted away. He didn’t pursue her, but instead stood still and waited for her to make the next move. We both watched her slowly reach out a hand to pat his head as I had. Once her hand connected with his scalp, she started slowly using her nails to scratch him. He took this opportunity to cozy up to her again, but she once more retreated until her butt was hanging off of the bench. “Come here,” I asked of her without thinking, holding back a laugh as she teetered on the edge. She shot me a look as if she was considering telling me _‘Don’t tell me what to do!’_ but complied. She plopped down next to me on the bench, much closer than I’d intended her to, and I called over Taro. He came to me this time and wagged his tail gratefully when he found I wasn’t fleeing like my blonde companion.

“He’s big,” she spoke to the ground moreso than me. It was bizarre to see Ino so small, both in mind and body. She still had some of her old bite (as demonstrated) but seemed more comfortable saying nothing at all. At the time, she seemed like a perfect candidate for animal assisted therapy, the very reason I’m enrolled in this program. I love animals and I love helping people: seeing Ino’s eyes light up in surprise when Taro gave her hand a sloppy lick made me positive I’d made the right choice in joining this program. She didn’t retreat this time, but instead dug her nails into her leg with one hand while continuing to pet him with the other. Weird girl.

We didn’t really talk. I’m sure she was uncomfortable with someone she knew in highschool seeing her that fucked up, so I didn’t want to push anything she herself didn’t bring up. It may have even been a conflict of interest that we ‘knew’ each other, but if she wasn’t telling the staff then I certainly wasn’t going to. I’ll admit that I felt some sort of protectiveness towards her, even if she was a bitch to everyone (including me) in highschool. She’d never really been directly mean to me, but I was a punk kid and whenever we interacted it was clear she viewed herself as somehow above me. How had she fallen so far? I couldn’t bring myself to ask out of a mixture of protecting her pride and not wanting to spook her. I was dying to know, though, so I made a mental note to re-establish contact with Shikamaru or that annoying pink-haired girl, Sakura, in order to snoop later on. Minutes ticked on with Taro patiently sitting on the ground between Ino and myself. The first visit is always outdoors because it tends to make everyone feel less closed-in but future visits would take place in her room or a designated room indoors. She only seemed to feel comfortable absentmindedly stroking Taro’s head and down his back, not making an effort to scratch his chin until time was nearly up. She exhaled in a short burst that must have been some sort of chuckle when his leg started tapping in pleasure.

“You found his spot!” I congratulated her eagerly, excited to see her engaging with the dog at long last. I’d been in the program since highschool so I’d met a lot of different patients by then. Most sign up because they have previous experience with dogs, though some are clearly unfamiliar with animal handling and take it slow. Ino seemed to fall between the two: she had a clear love for animals, but she had trouble reaching out to them. She smiled affectionately and allowed her hand to rest on his head lazily as she turned to me.

“Thank you… Kiba,” her whisper was almost imperceptibly quiet. I couldn’t be sure exactly what she was thanking me for, but I nodded cheerfully all the same. It was good to have her talk to me, good to see her looking alive. Her hand was still lingering on Taro’s head when a staff member called her name to signal our time was up. That was the first time I’d heard her say my name the whole visit. I balked in response to the gesture once it fully dawned on me, standing up too fast and jerking Taro up with me via his leash.

“Of course!” I called out to her retreating figure. I knew I should be closely following her inside instead of letting her charge forward alone, but talking with her was really fucking difficult. I couldn’t stop myself from hoping that next time would be easier. It wasn’t.

* * *

Getting info out of Sakura, who I barely knew, would be ridiculously hard. So after my second uncomfortable visit with Ino later that week I sought out Shikamaru. We ran in some of the same circles in the last two years of highschool and had known each other since we were children (like many of the people in our school). He wasn’t hard to find – he was playing chess competitively now and a quick google search gave me the time and location of his next match. I didn’t really care about chess myself, so I waited ‘til it ended to ambush him. He’d won of course, though I could only tell from his opponent’s downtrodden expression upon leaving. Shikamaru wore the same neutral expression he’d always worn with only a hint of smugness.

“Shikamaru,” I walked up to meet him as he neared the exit of the building. There wasn’t much fanfare after the victory so I approached him with ease. His mask cracked for a moment when he saw me, confusion clear before he quickly replaced the look with a smirk.

“Kiba,” still smirking. It pissed me off. This is why we weren’t close. “What brings you here?”

“It’s about Ino,” I waited for the smirk to fade but it didn’t let up. Bastard. Maybe he didn’t know about what had happened? That was impossible though, as everyone knew how closely knit he and Ino had been (alongside Chouji, who in retrospect I should’ve tried first) basically since birth.

“What about her?” I wanted to punch the smirk off his face. Snippets of my brash behaviour in highschool flooded back to me and I regretted never fighting Shikamaru. I fought nearly everyone else, some people multiple times. Never this prick. Maybe I’d get a chance now.

“Why is she… the way she is?”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

“OK. _Why_ ,” my fists were balled up at my sides and I caught him glancing at them without a hint of fear. More like marked disinterest. “is Ino in _REHAB_?” I wanted to shout but there were a few people lingering nearby and I didn’t want to break patient confidentiality more than I already had, so I kept my voice at an uneven low level. Finally the smirk dropped off his face and he looked more urgent.

“Who told you that?” it was incredible watching him try and act cool despite being obviously distressed. I briefly explained my role in her life the past week and he visibly relaxed. It was nice to see he cared, for Ino’s sake. If she didn’t have Shikamaru on her side, she had nothing. Shikamaru was fairly quiet after that, as if he couldn’t figure out what to say. It was a first for him that I’d seen, but I didn’t have much to say myself.

“I don’t know,” he admitted with hints of anger seeping into his tone. “If she wants to open up to you, feel free to let me know,” the finality with which he delivered this line ended the conversation more than him physically walking away did. I watched him go before leaving myself, curious as to what deep dark secret his best friend was hiding from him (and me). I knew she’d done heroin, likely for months, and I knew someone was paying her way through a fancy expensive rehab. Beyond that I was clueless about Ino’s life after graduation. At the time, I didn’t stop to question why I was so interested. It seemed obvious, because who _wouldn’t_ be curious about a former queen bee losing everything?

* * *

 Ino didn’t open up to me for about a month – it was our sixth visit. Until that point, she’d spent each visit calmly petting Taro (we generally try to keep the therapy dog consistent ‘cause it helps the patients feel safer) and asking me about my life. Since graduation, I’d taken on a larger position in the program and was making actual (not great but still) money doing something I loved. I took care of the dogs primarily and spent a few hours with actual people each week. The hypermasculinity I’d prided myself on for years before began to fade a bit after graduation as I grew up and also spent more time helping others. The therapy dogs didn’t just go to that rehab center: they also worked with hospital patients and one psychiatric ward in particular. I heard a lot of stories in a short amount of time, an overwhelming amount of grief and baggage that people carried around with them daily. It softened me. Perhaps my highschool reputation of being an idiot jock had kept Ino from divulging information to me, but once the dam broke it seemed to all come flooding out.

“It’s true what they say about heroin,” she began delicately. We were in her room with the door open and her roommate conspicuously absent. “It hooks you right away. Just a little bit and you can’t get enough. It was that way… for me, at least,” I could only nod in response, hoping to tease out more information before she realized what she was doing and closed off once more. She shifted to sit on the floor and wrapped her arms around Taro, who nuzzled her affectionately. Encouraged, she carried on. “There’s nothing spectacular to say about it. I don’t have a big secret,” she looked at me strangely as if reading my mind. I stared straight at Taro in an effort to alleviate my guilt. “I just fucked up. Someone offered it to me at a graduation party and I said yes and now I’m here,” with horror I realized she was choking up. Unsure how to handle the situation (physical contact was absolutely not ok, but I really didn’t want her to cry), I reached out to pat Taro. She did the same, moving a hand to scratch under his chin while keeping the other arm slung over his back.

“My dad won’t see me. My mom’s allowed to visit here but she hasn’t. No one writes me,” she was full-blown crying now, releasing Taro to rub at her eyes. After taking a quick glance around the room, I reached out to stroke her hair affectionately. She looked at me in shock and my hand shot backwards like I’d touched a snake. The whimper she made in response drew me back, despite my brain screaming at my body that I could _actually get fired for this_. She leaned into my hand and buried her face in Taro’s fur in one swift motion. Within minutes she’d finished crying and was back to her usual unusual self, quiet and submissive. We ended the visit there, 15 minutes early. She wanted to be alone, and though I didn’t think it was the best thing for her I knew better than to argue.

After that visit I knew I had to go see Sakura. Shikamaru felt slighted by Ino and also had probably never written a letter in his life, but surely Sakura could rise above that shit and help out a friend in need? Friendships between girls are extremely complicated but I figured there were definitely rules about this kind of thing. I owed it to Ino to find out why the pair, previously inseparable, had split up. Sakura was also easy to find: Naruto was one friend I’d kept up with since graduation, and he always knew exactly where Sakura was. It was finals season for university kids and Sakura needed top marks as she was aiming for med school, but she spared a few minutes to talk to me when I knocked on the door to her dorm. She was rooming with Hinata, and the state of their shared dorm showed they were much closer than they’d been in highschool. As I glanced around the room behind Sakura’s head (she didn’t bother to invite me in), I could see Hinata lounging in their common area eating some carrots delicately, a tiny little pug snoring on her lap. Hinata was painfully shy, the kind of girl I thought would stay living at home during university or at the very least be hiding in her own room the entire year. Following my eyes to Hinata, Sakura stepped out into the hallway and closed their door behind her.

“Naruto said you want to talk to me but he wouldn’t say what it was about,” she looked exhausted. The more time I spent on campus the more I thanked god I decided not to go to university. “So?” I was zoning out again, and she looked increasingly annoyed. “What is it?”

“Ino,” I didn’t really know how to ask what I wanted but knew the name alone would garner a reaction from Sakura. Her eyes widened and immediately her posture became even more defensive than before. Despite her body language practically screaming out that she wanted me to fuck off, I trudged forward. “What happened to her? Why aren’t you writing?” Something snapped in Sakura.

“Why aren’t I writing her?” she tasted the words in her mouth, putting her hand on the doorknob as if she was going to run back inside. Thinking better of it, she stood her ground like I’d challenged her to a fight. No one’s behaviour made any god damn sense and I found myself growing frustrated with Sakura’s own frustration. “ _She doesn’t want me to!_ ” her voice echoed in the dorm hallway. I took a step back. No words came to me. “I tried to visit her in the hospital, she told me to fuck off. I _heard_ her tell a nurse to ‘keep that bitch away’ from her before I got turned away. Why the _fuck_ would I write her a letter when she wants nothing to do with me?!” when she finished ripping into me, I noticed her hands were shaking.

“She was going through withdrawal,” I explained carefully. This wasn’t even the first time I’d heard about stuff like this. People being nasty and acting out when their body realizes it can’t get high anymore. I gave Sakura a sympathetic look that she returned with malice.

“For your information, she’d been treating me like shit long before _any_ of that. And what the fuck do you even care? Shika mentioned you’d been snooping around but I didn’t expect you to try and _lecture me_!” Sakura was obviously hurt. Sakura, also, obviously hadn’t changed much since highschool. Especially in comparison to Ino and myself. She was still a spitfire who felt first and thought second. It reminded me of how I used to be in a way. But I also hadn’t been friends with Ino for over a decade like herself or Shikamaru. I didn’t have a past relationship for Ino to destroy, so I couldn’t possibly understand. I wanted to try, though.

The door opened behind Sakura and Hinata poked her head out nervously. Sakura apologized for yelling to Hinata rather than me, turning tail and leaving without another word. I would’ve sulked, but I realized I’d just soaked up a fraction of the anger the pink-haired girl felt for her former best friend. I’d never gone this far for a patient before, and it was dangerous as hell. I had to stop myself.

Ino made it difficult to stop. Over the course of the next month, she kept revealing little tidbits of her life before rehab. She was opening up more, becoming more beautiful as her features filled out again and the colour returned to her skin. Her hair, and her smile, were softer each time I saw her. She’d laugh at memories of highschool and had even stopped cringing whenever the name of an old friend came up. Without giving a name to my feelings, I knew she was wrapping me around her finger with or without intention. It wasn’t until her fourth and final month that I allowed myself to acknowledge I was probably in love with her. She’d completely changed in the time I knew her, no longer timid and pathetic but instead commanding and strong. I knew her release date before she did, but I swore myself to secrecy. When she rushed over to me at what would be our last visit to share the good news, I did my best impression of shock and pleasure.

Faking being happy when someone is genuinely excited is totally shitty. I also felt sick with myself because I really _should’ve_ been happy for her. She was ready to go stand on her own two feet again. I was genuinely proud of her, and happy that she was happy. But what would become of us after her release? Would she seek me out, or want to leave this part of her life behind?

Luckily, I didn’t have to wait _too_ long for my answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this a rarepair? mmm... i can't help myself either way. i have about 20 fics i'm actively adding to at random but i'm gonna stick this one out i swear.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the rating to M because there is some sexual content at the end. I don't believe it's dubcon but if anyone gets that vibe from it please let me know and I'll tag it.

Ino

They don’t help you out a lot after you leave rehab. I mean, the one I went to was pretty expensive so they probably assumed someone cared enough about me to help me out. There were support networks and outpatient therapy that I was supposed to attend once a week so they could check up on me. But who was supposed to enforce that? My parents? My mom could barely look at me when she picked me up. My dad was conspicuously absent. I wondered briefly if they’d let me sleep under the same roof as him, but my mom simply started up the car and turned the radio up to discourage conversation.

When we reached the house, my dad’s car was missing from the driveway. It was the middle of the day and it stood to reason that he’d be working, but it ached a little. I had once been a daddy’s girl, but when I stepped out of line he had dropped me completely. It was cold, colder than I’d ever been to another person before. Even Sakura. Noticing my reluctance to exit the vehicle, my mom finally turned and really _looked_ at me. She squeezed my arm gently, both of us pretending there weren’t any track marks marring my skin.

“I’m proud of you,” the words left her mouth with barely a hint of passion. It almost felt true, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes so I turned away and scrambled outside. Naturally the neighbourhood busybody was passing by us on her daily walk and she didn’t bother to hide her disbelief at my return. My mom made idle chitchat with her while shooing me inside to prevent anyone else from seeing me. It was obvious everyone knew what happened to me and my parents were clearly ashamed. It’s not like any of this came as a surprise. They even (sorta) prepared me for this in rehab, explaining the stigma against all drug usage and heroin in particular but assured us all that with a strong support system I could power through anything. My support system at the moment consisted of… me? I wasn’t sure if I could count my mom. The first surprise of that day was when my thoughts turned to linger on Kiba, wondering if he’d still want to be in touch once his job was done.

Kiba had seemed really excited for me when I told him I was getting out, but all we’d talked about was me and the progress I’d made. He briefly talked about the dog program and how he lived for moments like that, when someone was “better” and could finally leave his care. It seemed a little calloused at the time, but only because I was in that position myself. Was he excited to see me go because he was proud of me or because he was sick of me? There was really only one way to find out. But before I even dreamt of seeking him out, I had to make some things right.

The first few days back I made little effort to set anything right at all. My favourite TV show had been cancelled in the months I’d been gone, and I dedicated countless hours to marathoning it alone. It was a nice distraction though my thoughts kept drifting to Sakura, who had watched the first few seasons of this with me years before. I’d made her stop watching when I went on vacation because I didn’t want her getting ahead of me, and by the time I got back I wasn’t into it anymore. I wonder if she ever finished it. The ending, rushed and haphazard, was disappointing in many ways. I emerged from my room in the wee hours of the morning with no real concept of time. In the hallway on the way to the bathroom, I saw my dad for the first time since I got home.

“Hi,” I faked a yawn and tried to pretend I’d been sleeping. He was emerging from the bathroom and effectively blocking my path, so I had to wait for him to make a move. He looked run down and exhausted, but didn’t catch my yawn. Instead, he peered down at me as our eyes both adjusted to the dark.

“You should get a job,” he demanded of me unprompted. “Might keep you out of trouble,” he added as an afterthought before turning away and heading to my parents’ room. Nevermind that I’d had a job before and all of the money had gone towards filling the hole in my arm. Nevermind that this was the longest I’d gone without seeing him, that I’d almost died. This man used to call me _Princess_ and lift me up on his shoulders as if I were truly royalty. As I returned to my room in a haze minutes later, I wondered if he was right: we should ignore my fuckups and I should push forward alone.

I definitely couldn’t get my old job back, since I’d kinda stopped showing up with no notice at the very end. I also couldn’t use them as a reference, judging by the 15 missed calls I accumulated from my manager over the course of a few days before I overdosed. Searching online in the area around my house, I was pleasantly surprised to find a new café had opened up. My first outpatient therapy appointment was the following day, and applying for a job would be a great ‘success story’ to feed whoever I was seeing. I showered thoroughly, spruced myself up more than I had in a year, and headed out the door. Our flower shop was just down the street and I was sure my mom was tending the front, but I locked our house up and didn’t bother letting her know where I was going. She wouldn’t notice I was gone unless she got home before I did and realized the door was locked anyway, as we didn’t talk aside from chance encounters in the hallway like the one with my dad.

As I entered the café, Tsunade entered my vision immediately. There were a few people sitting and drinking coffee at the tables but thankfully no one I recognized. Tsunade was the AP Biology teacher at our school that _everyone_ loved. She was informal, as evidenced by the fact that she let her students all call her by her first name. Sakura adored her, and managed to score an A+ in the difficult class. I’d been happy with my B until Sakura had shoved that in my face. I chewed her out for it, another shitty thing done by a shitty person. The memory left such a bad taste in my mouth that I almost left upon seeing my former teacher.

“Ino!” she called out from behind the counter, waving me over like we were long-lost friends. I did my best impression of myself two years ago and smiled wide at her. “What brings you in here? How do you like the place?” Tsunade grinned cheekily, and the realization dawned on me fully that she was no longer a teacher. She owned a business. A business that I (arguably) wanted to work at. She also seemed to be totally clueless of just how far I’d fallen since school, something I could easily work to my advantage.

“It looks great, Tsunade! It’s great to see you!” I schmoozed comfortably. It was easy to pretend to be me. I was intimately familiar with it, after all. For the next part I leaned in and lowered my voice “I saw the sign in the window and would love to work here!”

“Oh!” Tsunade looked confused but kept smiling. “Come back here for a second,” she headed towards the back of the café through a small door, and I followed close behind. The back area was small; all of the machines for making coffee were behind the front counter, as were the pastry displays. In the back room there were a couple couches and some cabinets with no labels to indicate what they held. A woman who look a few years older than myself with short black hair and excellent posture was sitting rigidly on one of the couches, balancing a clipboard in her lap and jotting down notes on it. “Shizune!” Tsunade called out, catching her attention sharply. “Can you please watch the front?” with a nod, the other woman was gone. She gave me another nod on her way out, which I returned a few seconds too late for her to see.

We sat down on the couch, Tsunade gingerly moving the abandoned clipboard off to the side and turning to face me directly. “Do you have any experience?” she asked me good-naturedly. I shook my head placidly, although I had over a year of experience in restaurants. She wouldn’t know that, though. It was obvious from her body language that she required more of me, so I started to lie.

“This would be my first job,” I explained sweetly. “After highschool, I spent a lot of time travelling around and trying to find myself, I guess,” which was partially true. I guess I had gone about finding myself the wrong way, but it did seem like I knew myself a bit better than I had before. “But I’m a quick learner! And I always try my best,” the lies flowed freely once I’d gotten into it. Even though I’d only gotten a B in her class, it was true that I had once worked my butt off for it. I just probably wasn’t that person anymore. But again: she wouldn’t know that.

I was hired on the spot and asked to show up the following day for my first shift. When I explained that I had a commitment in the afternoon, she smiled and informed me my shift would go from 6 AM to noon. Fuck. Before I could quit, she ushered me out the door with a blueberry muffin and a rushed “see you tomorrow!”

The next day was hell. I slept maybe 3 hours before getting up and trying to beautify myself. I was rusty but I still cleaned up pretty damn good, so I didn’t feel too terrible about showing up 10 minutes late. Tsunade wasn’t there, but the girl I’d met the previous day (Shizune? Shizune.) was. And she was clearly furious. There wasn’t a single customer in the shop and the pastry display was already stocked. I wasn’t sure what the big deal was, but Shizune gave me a huge lecture complete with mutterings about how Tsunade was going soft by hiring me.

“It won’t happen again,” I gritted my teeth and committed in an attempt to shut her up. It worked, and she calmed down enough to train me on stuff I already knew. I think she picked up on this despite my efforts to seem confused and inexperienced. Hopefully she just thought I was a fast learner, but regardless she didn’t comment on it. When people began to pour in around 7:30 I was proficient in the register system and every flavour of pastry we sold.

The day went smoothly, though each time the bell on the door chimed to signal a new entrant I crossed my fingers that it wouldn’t be someone I recognized. With no incidents, I removed my apron and headed home to shower and maybe catch a nap before my appointment. There was no uniform thankfully, so I made use of the plain black clothes I’d worn for my previous job. It was a little distressing to find they were tightening on me- I was eating normal amounts now and had been for awhile. Plus I hadn’t exercised since I quit the track team in junior year. Compartmentalizing those thoughts for later, I entered the house and spent a solid thirty minutes in the shower before heading to my room and curling up alone. I was rudely awoken minutes later by a light knocking at my door, followed by my mother’s voice informing me we were going to be late. Had she been home the whole time? I didn’t see her when I came back from work so more than likely she was taking a break from work herself. I slapped on some clothes, left my makeup from earlier on, and headed out the door with her walking briskly in front of me.

I talked to the therapist alone, my mother insisting I have “private time” when in all likelihood she was more interested in the magazines in the waiting room than my life. I’d never met with this therapist before so the hour was filled mostly with getting to know each other, her scribbling notes down as I guided her through the last two years of my life. She asked questions about my childhood, giving me a few happy minutes to recall time spent with my dad and mom and ruling over the elementary school populace with my beauty and brains. As we moved forward in time and things got more _complicated_ she took longer to write notes. At one point it started feeling less like therapy and more like a job interview.

“How would other people describe you?” she’d asked pointedly after I bragged about winning prom queen in my senior year. That was obvious. Beautiful, standoffish, untouchable, rude? Hot? Satisfied by this, she posed another question: “How would you describe yourself?” This one was a lot harder.

“In highschool? I would’ve described myself as smart and sexy. In control. Now I’m more like… going with the flow. Like I went from Type A to Type B in a few months,” I finished triumphantly, happy to find words for my feelings. Telling this woman then was the first time I realized it myself actually, and the pointed nod she gave me upon hearing it belied the internal turmoil I’d tossed myself into. Was I actually a completely different person than I was before? Would the person from before come back? The therapist did little to help me, and in fact ended out session shortly thereafter. It didn’t feel like she’d helped me much at all aside from having me talk out loud.

When we emerged, my mom didn’t look up from her magazine. I walked over to greet her and she looked surprised, as if she’d forgotten why we were there in the first place. We left together, this time with her making idle small talk about the flower shop and the neighbour’s new baby. She didn’t ask about the appointment which, although I didn’t want to talk about it, hurt a bit. When we arrived home I finally got to catch that nap I’d wanted earlier, drifting off moments after my head hit the pillow.

Waking up was terrifying at first: I forgot where I was, having spent so many nights in rehab and so many out with ‘friends’ before that. My phone screen proclaimed it was 9 PM and I scrambled into something decent before bursting out into the dark hallways of my house. It was silent. Concluding my parents were out for dinner, I decided to take some rather drastic action.

I should’ve gone to see Sakura first. Sakura was more fragile and also much more receptive to apologies and hugs, but I’d known Shikamaru longer. And though he was less quick to forgive, his anger was often less intense on the surface. He stewed silently, which would work out perfect for me. So I headed out to his place wearing a faded green t-shirt that was once way too big but was now just a tad oversized paired with frayed jean shorts. Summer was in full swing now, and all the university kids were on break. As I made my way the short distance from my house to Shikamaru’s, it occurred to me briefly that Chouji was only a house away. Chouji would _definitely_ forgive me, would almost certainly understand that I’d just made a mistake and was going to try my best to make it up to everyone and maybe even get my dad to _look at me_ once again. But by the time I resolved to visit Chouji first, I was on Shikamaru’s doorstep. Facing his mom. Who was grinning.

“Ino!” she was usually fairly stoic, much like her son. But her façade broke upon seeing me, and she pulled me into a hug. Shikamaru’s dad was lingering behind Yoshino almost nervously, likely offput by any sort of strong emotion from his wife. She turned to him angrily and barked “Shikaku, it’s Ino! Give her a hug already!” Despite my body language indicating I did _not_ need a hug, Shikaku obeyed as he always did.

“Your dad’s been very worried,” he whispered in my ear low enough that Yoshino didn’t hear, or chose not to react. _Huh,_ I fought back against replying, _he could’ve fooled me_. Not wanting to spend any longer with his parents, I stepped out of their way once Shikaku released me.

“You look like you were headed out,” Yoshino nodded in response to my statement. “I won’t keep you, I just wanna see Shika,” at this Yoshino beamed again and dragged her husband away with a brief wave. It was date night for all of Konoha, I supposed. Shikamaru was asleep in his room but I entered nonetheless, as per usual, unafraid of any consequences from the laziest person I knew. I left the light off in a gesture of kindness but shook his shoulder to rouse him. He was adorable when asleep, but the awake and alert Shikamaru was kind of an asshole. I allowed myself to soak in his sleepy stretching and quiet yawn before he realized who I was and where we were.

“Ino what the fuck?!” he shot up in bed, causing me to take a few steps back. Unable to properly express myself, I remained silent and went for the light. He squinted and rubbed sleep from his eyes before standing up to face me. I felt cornered despite standing directly at the open door to his room. He had a way of paralyzing me that I still can’t explain. “ _This_ is how you visit me? I haven’t heard from or seen you in months and _this_ is what you do? Where are my parents?” the last line was spit out as an afterthought but I clung to it, having no answers for the rest.

“I met them on my way in,” I swallowed thickly in an attempt to draw my own words out from hiding. “They’re going out for something. A date maybe,” at this he raised his eyebrows and I felt the tension in my shoulders begin to dissipate. “I’m sorry Shika!”

I threw myself at him, grasping onto his back in an attempt to elicit reciprocation in the painfully one-sided hug. His arms finally snaked up from his sides and his fingers came to rest on my shoulder blades. I was holding him tight and he was barely touching me, fingertips grazing my back as if I’d break in a squeeze. Not wanting to make him uncomfortable, I quickly released him and stepped back, leaving him to look at his hands still suspended in the air. After a few beats of contemplation, he looked back up at me.

“I don’t… I don’t think I’m ready to talk to you right now,” he huffed without making a move to remove me from his room. This was textbook Shikamaru, asking for space but fearing confrontation too much to demand it. I told myself that it wasn’t forever, that Shika was just feeling hurt after I’d avoided him for so long. He had to understand how hard it was for me, how the Ino that pushed both him and Sakura away wasn’t the _real_ me. But the Ino from highschool didn’t seem like the real me, nor did the me standing awkwardly at the entrance to his room. Everything felt wrong but one of my best friends was looking at me expectantly so I bolted, not sticking around to hear the groan of annoyance at how obviously upset I was with his request. _Troublesome_.

I walked by Chouji’s house on my way back home. Tears were streaming down my face absurdly and I couldn’t bring myself to be rejected again, so I passed by quickly and quietly. The light in Chouji’s room was on; I returned to a dark and empty house. Feeling emotions was still new, as I’d mostly been wrung out and exhausted both before and during rehab. All of this energy escaping me in sobs needed to be channelled somewhere, so I started to write.

_Sakura,  
I’m sorry I’m too much of a coward to come see you in person or say anything at all. I can’t even call you. I’m the worst._

I wanted to avoid self deprecation but it came so easily to me after the last few months. The letter got away from me quickly.

_I’m sorry about that time in 11 th grade when I made you pick me up by the lake after curfew because I locked my keys in my car and only had a swimsuit on, even though I hadn’t talked to you in weeks. I’m sorry I made you pick me and someone you didn’t even know up a few months later at 9 AM at a random apartment building and told you not to ask questions. I’m sorry for making fun of you for always getting good grades._

The list of things to apologize for grew as I opened old wounds with my grovelling. Luckily I was typing this up or the letter would be riddled with spelling mistakes and soaked in tears. Rather than list every transgression, I left it at the worst ones I could remember before closing up.

_I’ve always been jealous of you for being so strong. You never had to prove anything to anyone, which I failed miserably at imitating. I know you treated me like I was the one in charge, but you were always behind the scenes making everything work out for me. I never deserved you. I’m sorry._

Heroin hadn’t come up. I knew she’d expect an explanation, like I’m sure Shikamaru and my parents had. But I didn’t really have an explanation to give; the closest I’d come to one was talking to Kiba one sunny afternoon. I wasn’t anyone extraordinary, though I’d once imagined myself as such. Only now that I’d fallen from grace did I have the perspective to say that I did drugs because they were fun. I got fucked up because my parents didn’t put very many limits on me and I wanted more and more all the time: more fun, more attention, more danger. I got all three, until everything fell apart.

Looking over the letter once for mistakes, I sent it to Sakura on facebook without another glance at its contents. I knew if I dwelled on it too much I wouldn’t have sent it at all, and of everyone around me I owed Sakura _something_ the most. Within a few minutes my message was marked as “read” but after staring at the screen for fifteen minutes with sweat gathering on my palms, I gave up and returned to bed. Sleeping was easy despite my long nap previously, thanks to a stash of klonopin I’d saved from _before_.

Work was a welcome distraction. Waking up at five AM got easier (despite the occasional benzo-haze) as the days passed and I found myself honest to god enjoying interacting with people. Tsunade wasn’t in very often now that she’d found a full time worker to help out Shizune, but she filled the café with excitement whenever she did appear. The beautiful thing about Shizune was that she never asked questions and spent most of her time ignoring me or chiding me. Sometimes her anger reminded me of Sakura, triggering an emotional response I couldn’t stop. She still hadn’t responded to my message, but I didn’t deserve anything more. In retrospect the letter was the perfect thing to send someone who was (who had already?) cut you out. If all of my pushing away hadn’t scared off Sakura now, sending her an emotional apology at midnight on a weekday just might have.

A bit after the three-week post-rehab mark and after a particularly grueling therapy session in which we hashed out all the wrong choices I’d ever made in my life, I took the plunge and contacted Kiba. I got his number through Naruto, who was surprisingly chill about the entire thing. Asked me no questions, invited me for ramen, didn’t look too disappointed when I turned him down. The perfect reaction. Kiba, on the other hand…

“When and where?” he’d asked bluntly immediately after I invited him out. We didn’t really bother with formalities over the phone, choosing instead to meet the next afternoon after work for lunch. He seemed excited, so I tried to temper my own excitement to feel in control. Kiba was there for me when literally no else was (considering I’d forced them out) so it was only natural I’d develop an attachment to him. The other more intimate thoughts I had about him required some additional sorting out, which I assumed meeting in person would help. At least we’d finally be in an equal setting, where I wasn’t patient and he wasn’t… whatever he’d been.

“Hey Ino!” he smiled shyly from a corner table at the tiny café (not _my_ café of course). I gave a short wave before ordering myself an enormous coffee and a pre-made salad. I hadn’t eaten since the previous night and I was so used to napping after work that things might’ve gone downhill real fast without caffeine. He looked pretty much the same as he always had, ditching his trademark hoodie in the summer heat and opting for a plain grey tee instead. I hadn’t dressed up because that would’ve made it a _date_ and I wasn’t _dating_.

It was nice talking about Kiba for a change. While I was in treatment, we only talked about myself or nothing at all. Now that we were both on the outside, he was able to laugh and divulge little details about himself that I’d missed when I was, frankly, busy being a stuck-up bitch. Neither of us forgot how I looked down on him and most of the highschool population, but we both also remembered how aggressive and childish he’d been right ‘til the very end. It seemed as though we’d both come a long way, though I couldn’t say my transformation was as pleasant as his. Part of me still felt I was better than all this, better than my friends who immediately went to university so they could join the rat race as soon as possible, better than the café I was currently employed at. I was primed for greater things, but here I was. Here we were. Kiba caught me every time I zoned out and brought my attention back to reality. After about five times of this, he finally touched me. Placing his hand over mine delicately, he waited to speak until I unglued my eyes from the floor.

“Ino,” his voice was so soft and sweet, exactly the thing I needed. Everyone was so mad at me, but Kiba was right there and his entire being was so _warm_ that I realized exactly what had happened. I’d started developing feelings for him. It was stupid, because I definitely didn’t catch feelings for people. At all. I dated around in highschool but was never satisfied, rarely felt any feelings in my gut aside from the occasional butterflies when we fooled around. This was alien to me, and I found myself wanting to escape from it before it enveloped me.

“Sorry,” I punctuated the faux-apology with a laugh and looked up to see Kiba smiling. He was grinning actually, and his teeth were so perfect and sharp and I caught myself wondering how they’d feel on my neck before my mouth started moving. “I’m just a little tired. But I’m glad we got to hang out! We should do this again sometime soon!” Our drinks were long since gone and I stood up too fast, withdrawing my hand from his grip and bumping the table a bit as I reached for my purse. If he noticed I was weirdly panicking, he didn’t say anything to point it out. Instead he stared down at his empty hand before also getting up and heading to the door behind me. Outside the entrance we stared each other down briefly before he pulled me into a hug.

The men in my life aren’t big on hugging. Shikamaru loathes physical contact unless absolutely necessary, Chouji just isn’t into it unless you’re dating or you’re his mom, and my dad showered me with affectionate words but stopped most physical contact once I hit my teens. I stopped being his little princess a long time ago, but the lip service had continued until just recently. Kiba smelled like he was fresh from a shower, apple shampoo wafting to my nostrils as he unintentionally buried my face in his shoulder. I returned the hug carefully before he released me all at once, turning my legs to jelly. We said goodbye slowly, lingering in the doorway for a few moments as if to ask each other what would happen next. I was the first to turn away, tossing what I hoped looked like a carefree wave back at him before turning the corner.

I slept with my makeup on when I got back, too tired to bother removing it. It was a bad habit I’d developed that would definitely start ruining my skin any day now. In a way I was excited to sleep because the thoughts racing through my head were extremely unappealing. Nevermind that I didn’t feel prepared to fall in love or whatever this was, I didn’t feel deserving of any sort of affection from Kiba. I’d treated him like shit at every possible opportunity for years, then I spent a few months with him doting on me and suddenly I was in love? Bullshit. My brain see-sawed between thinking myself too good for a guy like Kiba who wasn’t even in school and undeserving of Kiba, who dedicated so much time and effort to helping me recover from my addiction. Thinking about heroin before going to sleep was always dangerous because it made everything seem so unsatisfying, so I tapped into that old stash of klonopin that was more than likely expired before drifting off to sleep.

Being woken up sucks a lot. I prefer waking up naturally, and I’d gotten so used to my morning ritual that I hardly needed an alarm clock anymore (though I kept it up because an angry Shizune was not something I wanted to experience again). Definitely the worst way to be woken up is by yelling, or maybe by a fire alarm, though I couldn’t imagine a shrill beeping noise would be worse than my father’s shouting. I was having a dreamless sleep but words from his tirade entered my consciousness before I fully awoke, namely _trash_ and _worthless_ , two words I can honestly say no one has called me to my face.

“Unbelievable,” he was yelling when I finally pried my eyes open and sat up in bed to see him. Thankfully I’d passed out with clothes on, or things would’ve been even more awkward. As it were, my previously adoring father was looming over me holding the klonopin bottle bearing someone else’s name that I’d left on my night stand. Unused to an invasion of privacy of this degree, I found myself yelling back. Not my greatest idea.

“Sorry, Ino,” he snarled as if Ino were the name of an idiot subordinate at work or an asshole cutting him off in traffic. “Heroin addicts don’t get privacy in this house. And for good reason. Abusing prescription pills under my roof? Are you fucking kidding me, Ino? Who are you and who raised you?” this series of questions knocked the wind right out of me. Unable to find an answer, I backed further and further away from him as he remained unmoved at the foot of my bed, not quite done taking me down. “I come in here in the mornings before work and you’re not here. I tell your mother and she asks me to relax, says you wouldn’t do anything to upset me. It’s a good thing she’s out right now,” he said more to himself than me. I didn’t cry, though it felt as if I was being ripped in half. Taking a few klonopin to help me sleep a few times is hardly ‘prescription drug abuse’ though I doubt my dad, the cop, would agree. It became immediately apparent that I needed to escape, and my legs snapped into action despite my dad’s continued lecturing.

He stopped when I bolted out the door past him, only to start shouting my name as I literally ran to the front door. He ran after me after a moment of hesitation. Part of me was thrilled, ‘cause it meant that deep down he didn’t hate me and was probably scared to lose me. The other part acknowledged that I needed to speed up since he’s always been quite a bit faster than myself. When I reached the front door I pulled it open with superhuman strength and didn’t bother trying to close it before the warm night air hit me. My heart was pounding so fast in my ears that I couldn’t hear if he was still following me, so I kept up my pace until I’d turned the block and tried to catch my breath. Thankfully I was in shorts and a t-shirt from earlier that day and my phone was miraculously still in my pocket. It was only 8 o’clock but I still felt shaky and tired, likely a result of the drugs. I was also not crying my eyes out and feeling suicidal, which, again, was the drugs. How could something so amazing make my dad so angry? He didn’t understand anything about me.

I sent Kiba a text before I had a chance to doubt myself. No greetings or small talk, just a blunt _what’s your address?_ that he may or may not reply to. His answer came quickly, and within minutes of fleeing my house I was plugging his address into my phone for directions. It was a short walk: nice because I didn’t feel up to a bus ride and didn’t have money on me for a cab. It made me feel strange however, like he’d been nearby this whole time and I’d never noticed. Briefly I wondered how different my life would’ve been if I’d made friends with Kiba early on. Probably not much, he was too aggressive and overbearing for Princess Ino anyway.

“What’s going on?” Kiba greeted me with concern at the door to his apartment. I had foolishly assumed he still lived at home like myself, but it looked like it was just him and his dog. Not sure how to explain my predicament, I forced out some bogus reason that amounted to ‘family problems’. He nodded understandingly all the same before introducing me to the aforementioned dog as Akamaru. Akamaru was _enormous_ , bigger than Taro or any dog I’d ever come into contact with before. I felt immediately comfortable with him however, and Kiba raised an eyebrow as I boldly entered his apartment and kneeled to pet the oversized dog. Akamaru licked my hand affectionately and I realized belatedly that kneeling was unnecessary: he was towering over me at this height. I heard Kiba chuckle as he closed the door behind me, and allowed myself to look around his apartment. He noticed.

“Sorry it’s not very clean,” he apologized sheepishly. “This guy sheds like crazy, and I don’t really… get a lot of guests…” at this he sounded embarrassed, so I didn’t tease him. My heart was still beating irregularly after the confrontation with my father and being here (almost) alone with Kiba wasn’t helping much. I stood up stiltedly and Akamaru went over to a well-worn couch that would’ve easily sat three people, though one Akamaru filled it up rather nicely.

“Kiba,” I could hear my voice was strained, could see the worry reflected in Kiba’s eyes as I took this opportunity to get closer to him. Though not suicidal I felt dangerous, hazy, craving something painful to make me feel alive. Kiba was convenient, because he obviously liked me. I didn’t have to sort my feelings out to get him to fuck me. It would be easy, it _had_ to be easy, or else I would lose my fucking mind. So I kept approaching him until my breasts were pressed up against his chest. He leaned against the couch for support, smiling awkwardly as if he didn’t understand what was happening. “I need you,” at this whisper in his ear he gripped onto my waist instinctually. When I pulled back, I could see his face was red and his pupils were dilated. It almost seemed like he wanted it more than me, which stroked my ego in a terrible way. I pulled him into a rough kiss in which my tongue practically pried his mouth open so it could explore before he pushed me off of him.

“We can’t do this,” he was panting. I could see the outline of his erection in his sweatpants, betraying his arousal almost as much as his facial expressions. When I moved my hand to give it some attention, he grabbed my wrist and started steering me towards the door. “Not like this, Ino,” he still hadn’t caught his breath and I was practically clawing at him to release me. “Tell me what’s wrong, talk to me, but don’t do this to me,” this was the final straw. Probably it was the right thing for Kiba to do, maybe it would’ve fucked a lot of things up all at once if he’d given in. But at the time it had me seeing red. When he finally let me go I stormed out of the apartment and back out into the summer air. I couldn’t stop running away, couldn’t stop fucking things up and leaving a trail of destruction in my path. Kiba didn’t come after me, but my phone kept buzzing with texts from him asking me to come back and explain what happened. My dad hadn’t bothered to call.

I have the number of my dealer memorized. It’s not a big deal really, but memorizing numbers isn’t really a thing anymore so it rarely came in handy. Sometimes I’d use a payphone is all, so I’d need to be able to reach him without relying on my cell phone’s handy address book. Since I got my new phone equipped with a brand new SIM card, I wonder if my parents thought I wouldn’t be able to find him again. I’d contemplated it a few times since my recovery: I’d been out for just under a month and temptation was no small thing. We talked about it at the weekly therapy sessions I was forced to attend, but talking about it did little to reduce my desire. The shit that was happening in my life, however, fed that desire like no tomorrow. I dialed the number when I was less than a block from Kiba’s house.

“What is it?” Kabuto rarely minced words. When he heard my voice on the other line he sounded pissed off instead of using the cheery tone he usually adopted when talking to me. “I’m glad you’re alive,” I wasn’t convinced but he continued on. “But you came so close to getting me busted last time, babe. You absolutely cannot shoot up anywhere near my apartment anymore, okay?” He was angry but he was envisioning a future where I was shooting up with his stuff, so I guessed it wasn’t too bad. Agreeing to his terms, I made my way to his place deeper in the city. It took me awhile. _I shouldn’t be doing this_. I thought about taking a bus to make the journey shorter. _Sakura will hate my guts._ Sakura already hated my guts. _Shikamaru won’t ever forgive you._ He might not forgive me anyway. My brain wouldn’t shut the fuck up, which naturally pushed me closer to Kabuto’s place.

We both knew I didn’t have any money. Sometimes I didn’t have money, but I was blessed with good looks and the inability to feel shame. So we fucked. Kabuto didn’t even have to ask, I didn’t even have to offer. He pulled me inside, our clothes came off and with minimal foreplay he was finishing on my stomach with ease. “I missed that,” Kabuto smiled down at me, only now using his ‘nice guy’ voice for me. It felt awful, especially considering Kiba wouldn’t even fuck me when I was hanging all over him. I felt a pang in my stomach and checked my phone as Kabuto left me to clean myself up and grab a baggie for me. Kiba had called me 5 times, plus there was a call from an unknown number and three voice mails. I didn’t bother checking my texts, looking around for some toilet paper to remove Kabuto’s residue from my body. In a little while, I wouldn’t care about any of this so it was difficult to muster up any guilt. When Kabuto came back my eyes lit up and he chuckled.

“You can’t live without it, can you?” he cupped my chin in his hand and tilted my face up to kiss. This act, though conventionally less intimate than literal sex, revolted me and I pulled away. He seemed unperturbed by the development and threw a small baggie at me before turning away. “Remember to go at least a few blocks away,” he looked back with a smile. “In case you do die this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one kinda got away from me


	4. Chapter 4

Kiba

Sakura found her wandering around downtown. Ino was crying hysterically and refused to let her get close, so Sakura called me. I got there as quickly as I could but my presence did little to help the situation. In fact, when Ino saw me she started to bawl even harder. It was a small miracle we were in the city rather than a residential neighbourhood, but the music from nearby clubs and the noise of traffic didn’t completely drown out her sobs. Neither Sakura nor myself knew what to do, so we improvised. When she sunk to the ground and put her head in her hands, we acted in tandem. Sakura put her hand on Ino’s shoulder wordlessly and I hovered nearby in case she decided to take off like she had from my apartment.

“Don’t touch me,” Ino begged through tears. It wasn’t a command: rather than Ino finding the contact unpleasant, it was more a plea that Sakura not force herself if she didn’t want to touch her former best friend. Sakura was crying now too, and I fought to stay level headed. I’d dealt with addicts before of course, but only after this part was over or before it began anew. I didn’t deal with addicts _in the wild_ or whatever, never handled breakdowns outside of a safe clinical setting. Sakura slid down the wall next to Ino until they were both huddled on the sidewalk pressed up against the wall. I stood over them as some sort of defense against the outside, increasingly thanking god that no one was passing by.

When Ino left my place, I sort of freaked out. I called Sakura first, even though she probably wanted nothing to do with me. She either didn’t have my number blocked or hadn’t saved it in her address book because, mercifully, she answered. When I explained the situation she turned on ‘medic mode’ and we coordinated a plan. It was no secret what we thought she’d get up to. Somewhere in the suburbs of Konoha, Shikamaru and Chouji were searching for Ino as well. Remembering this, I pulled out my phone to send them a text as a form of heads up. Conveniently leaving our current location out of the text seemed best, since Ino was overwhelmed with just two of us there.

“Hey,” Sakura started slowly. Ino flinched at the words and hugged her knees close to her body, leaning away from Sakura. “It’s okay, Ino. Come on, let’s talk.”

“You never replied to my message,” Ino spoke spitefully but with almost no heat, sounding more defeated than anything.

“I didn’t know what to say. I still don’t. But just because I’m angry doesn’t mean I want you to _die_ , Ino!” Sakura’s harsh statement brought home the gravity of the situation. When I got there, Sakura had already taken the baggie from her and thrown it in the garbage. Maybe not the greatest decision but probably the least incriminating. I missed the first few minutes of their confrontation and neither cared to fill me in, but Sakura’s reassurances gave me a window into the missed time.

“You’re not dirty, you’re not bad,” she soothed the broken blonde in a voice just loud enough for me to hear. “Look, I’m gonna call your mom and we’ll talk it out OK? You need someo-” Ino shot up before Sakura could finish and attempted an escape. Finally my presence was necessary, and I grabbed her arm in a firm but hopefully not painful gesture. She looked at me like my flesh was burning her, but stopped fidgeting.

“Can we go inside somewhere?” I asked her gently. Like a deer in headlights, she looked at me without saying anything before bursting into tears once more. I had to fight against my instinctual response to release her, instead pulling her a little closer so I could take her hand in mine rather than her arm. Sakura had sat up and was dusting herself off behind us. I’d nearly forgotten about her.

“C’mon,” she started walking off, painfully obvious that she was trying to seem casual. Her eyes kept darting backwards as she tried to still her head and not turn around too obviously, far too concerned to keep the charade up properly. “Naruto lives nearby and I have a key. He won’t be there,” she clarified at a groan from Ino. “And it’s better than being out here.”

She did have a point. As time wore on, the foot traffic and noise from drunk people would only increase. Not the best location for a public breakdown. Ino was following me dutifully, not trying to escape my hand but not looking enthused by the touch either. I would’ve been hurt had she not been so clearly distressed. It probably wasn’t my fault. Maybe? It was hard to say what the right choice had been, but I’d made my decision already. It’s not as if I hadn’t wanted to fuck Ino, it just seemed wrong in the moment. Her eyes were wild and she wasn’t explaining herself at all, not an ideal condition for a first-time encounter. Well, my first time, since I had no illusions about her sexual experience (which had served to make me more nervous since there was _no way_ I could measure up to some of the guys she’d probably slept with). I almost wished I’d called an ambulance when she’d showed up but it wasn’t as if I could tell them what was wrong beyond “this girl I like is aggressively trying to bed me but she’s being weird about it?” which might result in me being taken away instead.

Naruto’s apartment was shabby at best, which made me feel considerably better about my own. His floor was also strewn with clothes and trash from instant ramen and pizza boxes which was beyond predictable. Even Ino allowed herself a small smile when we entered the room. Sakura had been on the phone on the way over, likely explaining the situation to Naruto and persuading him to stay the hell away for awhile. It felt strange that this was the only time I’d ever stepped foot in his apartment and he wasn’t even here to greet me; it was likely the same for Ino. Once she was safely inside, I shut the door behind us and followed Sakura to a beat-up couch that was probably older than Naruto himself. It was a two-seater at best so I saved the spot beside her for Sakura and took up residence in a mushy beanbag. Not incredibly dignified, but it was better than the floor and I wanted to be comfortable for… whatever was about to happen.

“We don’t have to tell your parents, Ino,” Sakura was going to be a great doctor. She was so soothing, knew what to say to keep Ino from skittering away again. Despite my training I felt woefully unequipped to deal with Ino in this state. It was scarier than when I’d seen her fresh out of detoxing, which was saying a lot. A thought struck me – terrible and sudden – that perhaps she’d already relapsed. Maybe we’d only caught her _this time_ but there had been more that slipped through the cracks. Considering how torn up she was about it, my paranoid theory seemed unlikely but not _impossible_. Trying not to look at her with suspicion, I focused on Sakura’s downturned eyes and her hand on Ino’s back. “But we have to do something. Kiba and I are here because we care about you, and we want to help. Shikamaru and Chouji were tearing the town apart looking for you, and I wouldn’t be surprised if your parents already knew.” A strangled sob escaped from Ino before she inhaled sharply and looked up to address the ceiling.

“My dad caught me with some klonopin,” she sounded emotionless, robotic, adopting a tone I’d never heard before in my (albeit limited) interactions with her. “We had an argument. He hates me, my mom hates me, the entire neighbourhood thinks I’m a worthless junkie. I only got a job because the café owner is _Tsunade_ for christ’s sakes!” the monotone failed and her tears began anew. Sakura and I exchanged one of several looks we’d shared over the course of the night and I realized she knew even less about Ino’s current life than I did.

“You’re working for Tsunade?” Sakura asked kindly, addressing Ino as if she were much younger than her 19 years. Ino nodded, rubbing at her eyes as tears continued to pour out. “That’s great,” Sakura continued unprompted. She didn’t seem to know where else to take the conversation, couldn’t tell Sakura no one hated her or thought she was worthless because she truthfully didn’t know. But I did.

“Ino,” I spoke for the first time since we entered Naruto’s apartment. My voice sounded raw, even to me, as if I hadn’t spoken in days rather than mere minutes. “You aren’t a worthless junkie. You’re smart and vivacious and _you’re going to be okay_ ,” at my firm assertion she finally stopped rubbing her eyes and looked at me. Despite the fact that I couldn’t be certain it was true, I believed in it all the same. Hoping my words conveyed this, I sat up from the beanbag and went to rifle around in Naruto’s quaint kitchen. Finding three mismatched cups, I filled them with water from the sink as cold as I could get it and returned to find Ino all cried-out with her head in her hands. Sakura looked distant, eyes red-rimmed and perhaps feeling how Ino looked.

“I’m sorry,” Ino finally spoke, accepting the cup but not drinking from it. Sakura chugged the water down for her part, as did I: we’d been rather frantically running around looking for Ino after all. “I’m so sorry Sakura. I don’t know what to do anymore, I fucked up so bad,” she trailed off and turned to Sakura for a response. The pink-haired girl took her time, closing her eyes and taking in a few deep breaths before speaking.

“We need to get some help for you, first of all,” she began to lay out the plan, talking over Ino’s insistences that she already _had_ help. “I think you should see a therapist independent of your addiction. And I think you should do family counselling with your parents. _And,_ ” she grew more severe as her demands increased, and it was all Ino could do to nod dejectedly. “You have to give it time. You have to give everything time. Give Shikamaru time. Give _me_ time,” she clarified at the end, taking Ino’s hand and giving it a squeeze before releasing it once more.

Ino leaned onto Sakura’s shoulder tentatively, relaxing her muscles when she found she wasn’t rejected. I found myself anchored to concrete things once more, collecting the water cups from their hands (Ino’s still untouched) before returning to the kitchen to gulp down some more. There was no clock on the wall in Naruto’s apartment, so I reached for my phone to check the time. It was now past eleven, and Shikamaru had sent me several texts. Surprisingly, he hadn’t asked for our location, but instead sent a few meaningful words for Ino regarding the nature of their friendship.

_Tell Ino we’ll always be friends_ the first brief text read.

_InoShikaCho can’t exist without her_ said the last.

I showed Ino the texts and despite my previous assessment that she was out of tears, they began anew. Sakura peeked at the screen and nodded her thanks before I shot him a quick reply.

_told her. shes happy. thx dude_ I typed out gratefully and slid my phone back in my pocket. Sakura smiled at Ino awkwardly as if to say ‘ _See? Everything’s not lost.’_

Over the course of the next twenty minutes we helped Ino get off the couch and back out into the world, working out a plan for how the rest of the night would go. Sakura was hesitant but offered Ino a night in her bedroom, which Ino froze up at the thought of. Supposing this is where I would actually be useful, I offered her my bedroom and quickly added Akamaru and I could share the couch. This was physically impossible, but he could deal with the floor for a night (or I could). Ino accepted my offer shyly, with a hint of paranoia emanating from Sakura that I willed myself not to be offended by. Sakura walked the whole way to my apartment with her, arm slung around her shoulder and whispering in her ear things I desperately wished I could hear. Ino just nodded constantly, not saying a word until it was time for goodbyes.

“I’m going to text your mom that you’re safe,” Sakura spoke gingerly, still afraid to discuss Ino’s parents but clearly even more afraid to go behind her back. Ino once more nodded without bothering to fight it. They hugged goodbye on my doorstep, Ino wincing at the full-body contact before Sakura released her and waved. “I love you!” she called out behind her as she headed off to her own house. I opened the door of my apartment to Ino and locked it behind us. Remembering she hadn’t had anything to drink at Naruto’s, I got her a glass and placed it in her hands. She was stuck at the entrance, likely recalling what had transpired there hours before. Akamaru was hanging back for his part, sensing the tension in the room. I took Ino’s hand to lead her to the couch but she jerked it away from me.

“Ah, uh, can I, may I use your shower?” she stammered, nearly dropping the glass I’d handed her before I could rescue it from her grip. I nodded and lead her down the hall to my bathroom.

“You can use my towel!” I tried to give her space but the bathroom entrance was rather cramped as I pointed to the blue towel hanging on the shower door next to the toilet. “I … don’t have any spares. But I just washed it! So it’s totally clean!” Ino laughed for the first time in ages although it hadn’t been my intention. She shut the door behind her and I only remembered I hadn’t shown her how the knobs worked when I heard the water start. She must’ve figured it out on her own.

An entire thirty minutes later had Akamaru and myself falling asleep on the couch while watching some sort of infomercial channel before I heard Ino call my name. Hopping up and displacing my dog’s head on my lap, I ran to the door and almost threw it open before I remembered Ino was in there. Without clothes. _Oh shit._ I ran to grab something for her, selecting the smallest t-shirt I owned and some shorts I bought to jog with Akamaru in that were absolutely too short for me. I didn’t want her to overheat: the apartment had a window A/C unit in the bedroom but it was pretty mediocre as I’d bought it used. It wasn’t that I was too cheap to buy something nicer (though I was), but I never saw fit. No one slept there but me so I didn’t have to worry about another human being heating the room up. I felt self conscious about it now though, wanting Ino to have the best sleep of her life after possibly the worst night of her life. Apart from the one where she almost died, though this night could’ve easily gone that direction or worse.

“Sorry!” I called from my bedroom before running to knock on the bathroom door. She opened it a fraction of an inch and snatched the clothes from my outstretched hand before slamming it in my face. I couldn’t tell if her reaction was one of anger or shyness, but decided to give her space all the same. When she emerged from the bathroom in a haze of steam I prayed wouldn’t set off the fire alarm and her hair sticking out in every direction I stifled a chuckle. “I don’t think I have a hairbrush,” I lamented quietly. She was unimpressed.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ino went for the glass of water that had been sitting on the counter since before her shower. She drained it and helped herself to more from the sink, opening my freezer likely looking for ice cubes. I never did remember to refill the trays, the emptiness made more clear by her disappointed sigh as she closed the freezer door.

“Are you hungry?” I dared to ask. She contemplated this before nodding slowly as I entered the kitchen behind her. Clearly emotionally drained, she didn’t put up much of a fight as I steered her to the small table I never used (opting to eat on the couch most days instead). It was very apparent she was skittish around me, which could easily be chalked up to the weird _thing_ that happened earlier and the fact that she was spending the night at a guy’s house. I knew she’d done it a lot of times before but maybe she like, knew them better? Or something. It’s not like I was being handsy or anything, but whenever I got close to her she recoiled ever so slightly.

“Are you okay?” the question was foolish in hindsight. I was heating up some leftover fried rice I’d made earlier that day, feeling slightly self conscious since I hadn’t intended for this food to be eaten by anyone but myself. Rather than nod complacently as she had before, Ino started chewing her lip.

“I really fucked up again, huh?” she addressed Akamaru, who had wandered over at the sound and smell of food cooking. Despite the fact that I was the one cooking, he nuzzled up to Ino and allowed her to rest her head on top of his moodily. It almost felt like I was a third party in my own kitchen, but it was nice she was opening up. Not sure if I should reply or leave her to stew with Akamaru, I chose a third option: plating up some fried rice and gingerly setting it down in front of her and myself. It was a miracle I even had two chairs considering how little I entertained. I was suddenly grateful that my mom had pestered me about having ‘a proper eating space’ when I first moved out, though this was the first time I’d used it for guests. Ino perked up at the smell of the food and began to dig in, shocking both of us. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” she stated plainly. And then “this is delicious, Kiba. Really.”

“Aha, it’s nothing,” I could feel the blush creeping down my neck despite myself and opted to bury my face in food as well. We ate in silence, Akamaru practically sitting on Ino’s foot in the hopes of getting some scraps. She looked at me questioningly near the end of the meal, a small chunk of chicken in her hand, before tossing it his way the second I nodded. “That’s it though,” I told both of them sternly. If not for the obviously fucked up situation we were both somehow in, it would’ve been fun. Ino was comfortable around my dog. Ino _liked_ my dog. Pretty much my only criteria for dating someone. She was also hot and spunky when she wasn’t… an addict. She was an addict. Falling for addicts is a really bad idea.

“Check this out,” I rose with both our plates in tow once we’d finished. Trying to act casually I dumped the plates in the sink and made a mental note to deal with them much, much later. When the cabinet above the sink opened, Akamaru leapt up and ran towards me. He was at least well-behaved enough not to jump on me anymore, but he knew treats were coming. I showed Ino his perfect ‘sit’ command and gave the bag to her. “Tell him to lie down!” I urged, and she obeyed in a shaky but serious tone. Akamaru was falling over himself to please her, and lay perfectly still on the ground until she offered up a small bone-shaped treat. I took the bag back after she’d procured one more treat. This time without instruction she asked him to ‘shake’ and offered her palm, which he licked at curiously.

“Oh no,” I groaned with embarrassment. “I haven’t taught him that one. Try uh, oh! Try ‘play dead’!” Akamaru put on quite a show for this command. It all but made up for his lack of understanding of ‘shake’, sending Ino into a tiny laughing fit as he rolled over on his back and covered his eyes with one paw. We’d spent ages on that one, and I hadn’t shown it off to another human being ‘til then. I took advantage of the momentary distraction to put up the treats before going over to rub Akamaru’s belly. Ino followed suit, crouching down to shower him with affection. After much agonizing deliberation, I removed my right hand from Akamaru’s fur and placed it delicately on her shoulder. She froze.

“Hey,” my voice was a whisper, making every effort not to spook her anymore than I had already. “It’s okay, I’m not going to do anything. But do you want to come talk? On the couch?” She looked less than enthused at the prospect but allowed me to pull her up and guide her out of the kitchen, leaving behind a very disappointed Akamaru. It had to be past midnight now and I was blessedly halfway through my weekend, but I didn’t know about her. She’d mentioned briefly that she had a job at lunch earlier that day (though it felt like an eternity before, with the way everything was dragging out). “Do you need to call in sick? From your job?” I asked once we were squarely on the couch together, her making every effort to keep our skin from touching. She shook her head ‘no’ but didn’t offer an explanation: hopefully she had the day off tomorrow.

“I don’t know if you know this, but you could’ve died,” shifting tones more quickly than intended, I spoke quietly but anger tinted my voice beyond my control. “Shikamaru, Chouji, Sakura, your parents, _me,_ we would’ve never been able to see you again. No chances for apologies and no time to make up, you could’ve misjudged how much to take and _actually fucking died_.” Ino looked like she wasn’t going to respond, opening and closing her mouth several times before finally vocalizing her thoughts.

“I know. I’m sorry. I keep… I’m sorry. Kiba,” she looked up at me now, her eyes wide and trusting despite her body language. “I don’t know what to do. I’m all fucked up.”

“Hey,” my hands slowly moved towards her, with my eyes flicking upwards for approval each inch of the way. She allowed me to pull her into a hug, eventually returning the gesture weakly and burrowing her head into my neck. It tickled, but I willed myself to be still for fear of scaring her away. “I’m gonna help you. And, Sakura…” Ino’s breath caught in her throat but she didn’t move away from me. “Sakura needs time. I think everyone needs time. But we’ll get through everything one step at a time okay? Together,” I pulled her away from me so she could see my smile. She returned it sadly, like she wanted to believe me but couldn’t do it quite yet.

“Kiba… can we…” she flushed and looked down before continuing. I had seen a million sides of her I’d never seen before in the past few months and even just today, but this one was my favourite. “Can we sleep together?” seeing the expression on my face she rushed to correct herself. “Like just sleep. Maybe cuddle? I like you. This isn’t how I meant for this to happen,” her words jumbled together clumsily but the message was crystal clear. I hadn’t expected her to reciprocate my feelings, despite the signals she’d been giving me. I felt a little suspicious, concerned she was only clinging to me because no one else was there for her. Maybe it was that way. But she had picked me, after all. So I smiled again, no less sincere but maybe a bit morose.

“Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think there's one more chapter left. im enjoying writing this! i didn't expect to write so much but it just happened. thanks for reading


	5. Chapter 5

Ino

Kiba is a really good cuddler. It felt fifteen different kinds of fucked up, forcing him to comfort me when I’d let a dude ream me a few hours before just so I could get high (and I didn’t even _get_ high). At least he’d lent me his shower so I could get the residue of _Kabuto’s cum_ off my stomach. These thoughts circled in my head viciously as Kiba led me from the couch to his room, as he flicked the lights off and the window AC unit on ‘high’. I couldn’t tell Kiba what I’d done. As soon as we got in bed together I regretted asking him to join me, worried he could just _tell_ that I’d done something. It’s not like we were dating, not like I owed him my chastity or whatever. And when I let my emotions get the best of me I couldn’t help but acknowledge that he had rejected me. Of course, it had looked almost physically painful for him to do so but nevertheless he had turned me down. Using that twisted bit of information I was able to calm down enough to even think about sleeping. At some point we’d have to talk about it, but that night he just lazily draped an arm over me and stroked my hair until I passed out from exhaustion.

When day broke, I woke up first. Even though the AC was blowing straight on us I was covered in a thin layer of sweat, lying under the absurdly heavy blanket that seemed to be his only bedding. I shifted cautiously, taking care not to displace the arm Kiba had slung over me the night before, and came face to face with a very groggy man. He was a sound sleeper but apparently my shifting (combined with the sun’s ray no doubt) has roused him. Rather than open his eyes, he pulled me closer in a gesture I appreciated until I felt a drop of sweat roll down my neck.

“Hey, hey,” I pushed him away unceremoniously, surprised to find he didn’t resist. In fact, he fell back asleep almost immediately, so I crawled around him and found my way to the kitchen, looking around and finding the cabinets practically empty. A calm that hadn’t enveloped me since rehab had fallen, and I found myself casually dressing in a shirt I found on Kiba’s floor that smelled okay (smelled good, actually. Smelled like Kiba.) and keeping on his shorts from the previous day. Figuring Kiba lived in a safe enough neighborhood and also wouldn’t miss his wallet in his sleep, I snuck out the front door without locking it in search of some food for us. I’d been completely shoeless since I left my house the day before: it was a wonder I hadn’t hurt my feet wandering around the city. Luckily, Kiba had a pair of sandals that were too big for me sitting by the front door that I could make do with.

It took me less than 15 minutes to locate a coffee shop and reach the front of the line before I realized I didn’t really know what Kiba liked to eat. Or anything about him, really. Plus he barely had any cash in his wallet, so I got two small coffees and two different kinds of muffins so we could trade if he didn’t like one. I was gone less than half an hour, lazily making my way back to Kiba’s place feeling cozy despite the heavy t-shirt I’d picked as the sun hadn’t risen too high in the sky yet. I opened the door and came face-to-face with a very red Kiba, his distress contrasting my calm in an almost comical way. Upon seeing me his entire body relaxed and he stepped aside to let me in, leaving me to riddle why he was so upset.

“Did you think I ran away?” I asked tersely once the thought dawned on me, placing the food on his tiny kitchen table and taking a seat, allowing Akamaru to place his head in my lap expectantly. Kiba’s face twisted in anguish and he fell silent before taking the seat across from me. We were a reversal from the night before: this time, he was panicked and I was just trying my best to reassure him. The thought had annoyed me at first, but after I tossed his wallet on the table and he made no move for it, I realized his fears weren’t really unfounded. I was the definition of a flight risk. It was probably more surprising that I _had_ returned.

“Thanks for the food,” Kiba had plucked both muffins out of the bag and retrieved a carton of milk from the fridge during my moments of reflection. He needed very minimal comfort, it seemed, before he could act normal once again. Kiba was so easy to please, it made me feel gross for wanting him to like me. Surely any human being could make Kiba much happier than myself; it felt selfish to crave love when I was incapable of returning it properly. He smiled to himself a bit while adding an absurd amount of milk and sugar to his coffee before replacing the lid carefully and taking a sip. I forced myself to stop admiring him and added a bit of sugar to my own coffee before gesturing to the muffins, giving him first pick.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Kiba said so casually that it almost didn’t sound forced as he snapped up the chocolate chip muffin and started tearing it apart mercilessly. I nodded grimly, unsure if he meant about last night or this morning or in general. Hearing him say that reminded me of how worried my parents must’ve been, and I made quick work of my breakfast before standing up abruptly and announcing I had to leave. It was only then that Kiba noticed I was wearing his shirt: his mouth dropped open a bit and he took the fabric from the bottom hem between his fingers as if to check it was real. I couldn’t suppress a giggle, which prompted him to stand up and pull me into a tight hug that I automatically leaned into.

“I have to go see my parents,” my voice was wavering at the very thought, but Kiba gave me an extra squeeze so I carried on. “Thank you for everything, Kiba. I can’t believe how much- I’m so sorry I was a bitch to you in high school!” I practically shouted the last bit directly in his ear, but even still he didn’t release me. It was only when I gave him a squeeze back that he slowly relinquished his hold over my body, ending the embrace by staring into my eyes with his hands lightly resting on my lower back. His eyes were a little glassy, as if he were closer to tears than myself, so I planted a chaste kiss on his cheek before heading back to the bedroom to collect my stuff.

I dreaded opening my cellphone the most, but the situation wasn’t as bad as I thought. Once my friends realized they could contact me through Sakura or Kiba, their messages had tapered off and the calls had quit completely. I realized with a hint of sadness that my parents hadn’t called once. There was a single text from my father, a simple “Come home, please,” from a few hours prior – around 4 AM. I left Kiba’s apartment still wearing his clothes, like a safety blanket, dragging my feet all the way home.

The first thing that struck me when I opened the front door to my house was that my father had been crying, then that he wasn’t at work for once. My mom was there too, scrambling to get the door when she heard it open. My father was parked on the sofa to the right of the entryway, and I made eye contact with him just as I’d barely entered the threshold. His eyes were bloodshot and his head threatened to fall into his hands at any moment: he had it propped up on his closed fists before raising his head to greet me. My mom ushered me into the living room across from my father and took a seat beside him. It was the setup for an interrogation, my dad’s favourite thing and coincidentally his livelihood, though the couch was infinitely cozier than anything a precinct could offer.

“So,” my dad cleared his throat authoritatively. His red-rimmed eyes betrayed any serious lecture bullshit he was going to try and pull on me, but I sat quiet and still as though I couldn’t tell. “I said things yesterday that I regret. Ino, I owe you an apology. A lot of apologies,” he corrected himself quickly, ignoring the look of shock that surely ghosted onto my face.

“Dad, you don’t have to apologize to me!” I hurried to correct him, to stop my father from denigrating himself by apologizing to someone so undeserving. I fucked up a million different way in the past year and absolutely no one owed me an apology for that. “I’m sorry I’m an embarrassment, I’m sorry I’m not like Shika or Choji or Sakura! I’m trying to be better, I got a job but I have trouble sleeping so I was using those pills and-” I hadn’t planned on the way over if I would tell them about last night, forcing an abrupt end while I puzzled over it.

“We know you bought heroin last night,” my mom said quietly, gripping my father’s arm as if I’d bite her head off if he didn’t protect her. “Sakura told us!” Of course she did. I was certain that Sakura believed she did the right thing, and also certain she went above and beyond what any other friend might do in that kind of situation. From the way my parents were reacting, it didn’t seem like she’d told them what I’d done to procure said drug though I had leaked it to her in my most hysterical moments when she first found me. It was funny, even to me, how that mattered more in the moment. Buying drugs is one thing, but selling my body felt so much worse somehow. My dad cleared his throat yet again, drawing my attention back to him.

“I’ve been… burying myself in my work. Because I didn’t know what to do with you, Ino. That was wrong,” my brave, strong, invincible father was apologizing to the floor because he couldn’t bring himself to meet my eyes. At his words and this revelation, I started to cry.

“I’m sorry dad,” there was nothing else I could say. “I’m so sorry.”

It was my mom who ultimately suggested family counselling, no doubt at the suggestion of her favourite person (Sakura). While I had missed Sakura, I didn’t miss my mom’s obvious favouritism for her, something that would inevitably be coming up in said counselling. My dad surprisingly agreed to it, something I’d thought him incapable of previously. We set up a session for the following week, and my parents agreed to look into outpatient rehab rather than inpatient if I followed very strict rules.

My addiction meant that while most of my friends were moving out on their own, I was living with my parents and had an 8 PM curfew. My room was still semi-private, but my mom almost certainly snooped while I was gone (nothing was ever _quite_ in the right place). My dad, to his credit, stopped working as much as humanly possible, though we hadn’t quite gone back to our previous relationship. I got to keep my job at the café, though my parents contacted Tsunade and asked her to inform them if I ever missed work. It was humiliating, being treated as a child though I was a legal adult. But they felt it necessary, and judging by my breakdown it likely was. My mom would rather I have worked at the flower shop but I didn’t feel ready to go back; my last memories of working there had been stealing money, after all.

After coming clean to my parents, I knew I had to thank Chouji and Shikamaru for all they’d done. I wrongly assume that tackling them individually would be easier than having them together, so I tracked down Chouji the next morning at his house and suffered through an entirely too tight and rather unexpected bear hug. He forgave me effortlessly, reiterating how concerned everyone had been about me and how they would always be there for me. I felt so foolish for ever doubting my friends’ love for me. I felt even more foolish as Chouji continued on.

“There’s something kinda… more serious,” he explained in hushed tones, leading me from the entryway to his abandoned living room. Rarely was the Akimichi house so quiet, but it was fairly early in the morning after all. “I respect Shikamaru,” he began. This threw me for a loop, but I overrode my natural instinct to interrupt and ask where exactly this was going. “So I’ve kept this secret forever. But I don’t think he’s ever going to say anything to you, and that’s starting to piss me off. So… I think Shikamaru is in love with you,” he ended weakly, tone not matching the shock value of this revelation.

“With me?” I couldn’t help but sputter, feeling my stomach drop as every interaction I’d had with Shikamaru in the past _year_ played in my mind. He had seemed really irritated that I’d gone to Kiba over him and Chouji, but wasn’t that normal friend anger? Chouji nodded gravely in response.

“I know you have a thing with Kiba; he knows about it too. But I think you should clear things up for good, for the sake of all of us. Of our friendship,” he clarified, putting a hand on my shoulder that caused me to flinch away. Undaunted, he stood up and offered me a hand up before leading me back to the door. “I’ll be right here when you need me,” Chouji gave me an award-winning smile at this, sending me off like a mother watching her son go to war. Surely Shikamaru wouldn’t be that difficult to handle, though the tone had already been set. Without giving myself much time to prepare, I headed straight to the Nara household. Hyperaware of my actions, I opted to knock on the door normally and avoid sneaking into a sleeping Shikamaru’s room.

Surprisingly, Shika answered the door. Taken aback by his appearance at the early hour, we both stood in silence for a few beats before I found my voice. “Hey,” it crackled in my throat as though I hadn’t spoken all morning. He nodded in greeting, leading me back to his room without a second thought. This time, maybe sensing sensitive subject material, he closed the door. Not that I was concerned he’d do anything to me, but it felt a little too enclosed for my tastes. He took a seat on his bed, neither of us speaking since I arrived, and I remained standing near the door.

“I wanted to say thank you,” I managed to choke out. Shikamaru looked completely unimpressed, not smiling nor frowning but rather remaining completely impassive and unreadable. “I’m sorry you had to look for me like that. And I’m sorry that… I’m sorry I like Kiba,” I finished lamely. This finally got a reaction from him, a rather violent one at that. The perpetually lazy boy jolted up from the bed and took a step towards me before freezing and sitting back down.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Shikamaru locked eyes with me, almost daring me to look away. “But why couldn’t it have been me? I’ve known you your whole life. We grew up together, I know your likes and dislikes, I know how to cheer you up when you’re sad and what buttons to push to get a rise out of you. I know your weak spots and the things you’d rather not talk about. I always gave you distance when you wanted it…” he trailed off as if there was much more to say that he couldn’t bring himself to share.

“Maybe that’s all exactly why,” I mused thoughtfully, only reflecting on the situation as I was entrenched in it. “I don’t know a lot about Kiba, but I’m learning. And above all else, I can’t really control who I fall in love with. It just happened. And I’m sorry, Shika, but you and Chouji will always be like brothers to me,” I delivered what certainly felt like the finishing blow. Shikamaru was stoic as usual, not a tear in sight, though he did let out an exasperated sigh.

“Alright,” he rose once more, this time calmly and with little emotion behind it. “More than … my other feelings for you,” he stumbled out, lacking composure unbecoming of his normal attitude. “You’ll always be my best friend. I won’t let this ruin that. I’m sorry, but I’d like to be alone for a bit,” he finished awkwardly, already at the door to his room opening it so I could leave. I nodded in response, heading towards the front door before turning around and pulling Shika into a brief hug. He stiffened at the contact and I broke away quickly. It may have been wrong given our conversation, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave without one. Although it was selfish, I wanted Shika to stay my best friend, to stay my smarter and annoying not-quite-brother. Only time would tell for us, but I left his house feeling lighter than expected.

Sakura started going to my work, primarily to talk to Tsunade and, shockingly, Shizune, who she inexplicably knew. We didn’t avoid each other, but things weren’t the same. The understanding between us, most likely, was one of old friends who’d be better off without each other. After all I’d put Sakura through, I was under no delusion that she should remain my friend. It was comfortable, though, seeing her at the shop and not worrying about hiding my face. As time wore on, she began to talk to me casually rather than just the other two. Things weren’t the same, but they never would be. What we’d begun to have then was working out just fine.

After several weeks of family and individual therapy, I contacted Kiba again. He must have an infinite store of patience despite his hot-headed exterior in high school, because he never got upset at me for disappearing in and out of his life. I later learned that Sakura was updating him on my progress based off of conversations with my mother- she almost certainly spoke to my own mother more than I did, and loved being a busybody far more than I ever did. Kiba expressed that he wanted to go on a date, an infinitely terrifying prospect despite our clear mutual attraction, so I hid behind my parents’ restrictions and claimed dating was off the table for now. He said he understood. I hoped he’d move on and find someone nice instead, despite how much it would hurt me.

Despite the fake no-dating rule, we did start to meet up regularly. He met my parents, my dad clapping a hand on his shoulder to thank him for helping his daughter through rehab and my mom fussing about him living alone and offering to cook him dinner sometimes. After that display, it was almost certain Kiba knew I was lying about not being allowed to date, but he stayed quiet. There was still one (or two) huge hurdles we needed to get over before I could entertain the idea of letting myself love him.

The first hurdle was easy in comparison to the next, but incredibly difficult nonetheless. It was the end of August when I finally mustered up the courage to do it. At this point Kiba and I had known each other for around six months, though it felt much longer than that thanks to all the drama I’d put him through. We were having a not-date movie date at his place, watching some garbage old horror flick and keeping a safe distance between ourselves on the couch. Akamaru was sitting on the floor beside me, Kiba always bitter that he seemed to prefer my company. “That’s ‘cause I’m cuter,” I’d teased him one day, surprised to see a blush cover his face in response. The topic was soundly put to bed after that.

“This is so bad,” Kiba was chuckling, his hands fidgeting in his lap as the movie lost his attention. “Do you wanna do something else?” Taking the initiative, I turned off the TV and turned to face him. He raised an eyebrow, confused by my behaviour but not vocalizing to discourage it. Sweet, sweet Kiba, always thinking of me before himself. How had I ever thought myself above him? In truth, I was mere trash compared to the boy beside me.

“I’m sure you know by now,” I started shakily. “But the thing I said about not being able to date was a lie,” I managed to get out. This wasn’t even the big secret, but it was painful to share. Kiba simply nodded in response, passing zero judgement while waiting for me to continue. “The reason for that… well, uh, maybe I can’t actually,” I felt myself begin to waver as my eyes filled with tears. Only then did Kiba act, taking my hand in his in a tender gesture. I pulled away.

“You shouldn’t touch me,” I choked out through the thick feeling enveloping my throat. He looked taken aback, finally speaking to ask me _why not?_ The answer finally came, after months of hiding: “I’m dirty.”

“Ino, you are not dirty, there is nothing wrong with y-”

“I slept with my dealer for drugs,” I cut him off before he could delude himself further. His mouth formed a small ‘o’ as he contemplated this. Immediately I regretted telling him, but it was too late to go back. I pushed forward. “Many times. Most importantly… that night. When you found me. When you let me sleep in your bed. I’m so sorry,” the last bit was garbled by sobs but he seemed to understand. Shockingly, he pulled me into his arms and began to return my sentiments.

“Oh, Ino…” he trailed off while searching for words. He was speaking directly into my ear, quiet and calm but easy to hear over my crying. “I’m so sorry. You’ve had it rough,” Kiba held me as if I was something precious rather than a disgusting slut. It felt nice, but more than that it felt _wrong_. Extracting myself carefully from his grasp, I wiped furiously at my eyes in the hopes of seeing him properly. What kind of expression was he making? My eyes still ablur I could see the hints of a frown.

“How can you say that?” I was angrier than expected, almost as if my brain wanted to make up for his lack of reaction. He looked just as surprised at my response as I felt. “I can’t believe I did that to you. I knew you liked me and I liked you too and I did it anyway. Because I’m an addict!” I yelled, the first time I recalled doing so in months. That was the second hurdle, the one nearly insurmountable: I was addicted to heroin. I’d shown time and time again, before and after meeting him, that I’d do just about anything for a fix. I didn’t value myself or my possessions or even my relationships over getting high. Letting him date me would be a selfish mistake. I vocalized none of this, but he seemed to understand all the same.

“Keep up with therapy,” he instructed me paternally. “Keep working at your job, and keep hanging out with your friends. Keep hanging out with _me_ ,” he emphasized the last part, desperation creeping into his voice as his hand slowly moved to cover mine. I didn’t shake him off this time, but made no move to get closer. “We don’t have to do any more than this until you’re ready. I will wait for you,” his voice had been gaining determination throughout this speech and at the end he was brimming with confidence.

“I’m sorry Kiba,” I once more wiped my eyes in vain using my free hand. He paled at this, perhaps thinking I was ending things with him. In reality, what I was doing was much worse: more selfish and dangerous than anything I’d ever demanded from anyone. “I don’t want to let you go. Please wait for me… I love you,” as the words left my mouth, he was already moving forward to pull me into a hug. We both cried, though more out of happiness or sadness I can’t quite say. In the moment, it just felt right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to finish! Since I last updated this fic, I got married, graduated uni & got a “real adult” job. Ah, also, I may write an epilogue for this some day. This chapter feels kinda like an epilogue but I dunno. Thanks for sticking with me!


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